


i was calling (for the last time)

by sagexbrush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Death, F/M, Sad, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4974169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how they lose him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was calling (for the last time)

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING.  
> Idk.  
> I had a good day that turned shitty and here is the product of that.

            This is how they lose him.

            It’s to the Noguitsune of course, and Lydia knows she should have seen this coming, _knows_ that in the end it’s all her fault because she didn’t see the warning signs in time. It’s all of their faults, it’s their trembling supernatural fingers that let the most human of all of them slip between the cracks for good.

            That was what he was, _human_. He had always been blissfully, wonderfully, human. A brilliant human of course, with brown eyes the color of hot chocolate and warmth and pianists fingers and floppy brown hair that somehow made him look like a overgrown puppy – but, well, she was getting off track.

            When people read these scenes in stories, they chuckle, they make fun of the protagonist for doing everything he can to save the people he loves _, it’s not realistic_ , they’ll say, _nobody sacrifices everything._  

            They haven’t been in those situations though, they haven’t seen the terror and the pain of what the world is really like, and they most definitely did _not_ know Stiles.

            She doesn’t want to go into a whole rendition of what led up to that moment, of how it happened and _why_ , mostly because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know when their lives suddenly went back into the dark.

            Doesn’t know why she lost another friend.

            It’s snowing when it happens.

            The white flakes drift down from the sky and catch in his hair, peppering the brown with white.

            It’s only the two of them.

            “The only way to get rid of him for good is to kill me, isn’t it?” he whispers, in a broken sort of voice. “I’m the only one who’s escaped from him alive, and I don’t think I was meant to.”

            “We’re not killing you,” she says automatically, because it’s _true_. There is no way that any of them would ever sacrifice Stiles.

            Not even if Void was back. Not even if the fly had escaped out of it’s container (even if they didn’t know how) and was crawling underneath Stiles’ skin once more.

            “We’re tied together Lydia,” and he just sounds tired, like there’s a deep aching in his bones that’s never going to go away, “Him and me. They can’t kill him without killing me.”

            “We might not even be able to kill him anyways,” she counters, pursing her lips and turning back to him. They’re in the forest, in a clearing far, far away from the thrilling thrust of battle. It seems like the safest option, keeping Stiles as far away from the Noguitsune as possible, and what better person to look after him then his emotional tether?

            “But we can sure try,” he says, and there’s a spark of hope in his voice that wasn’t there before, something that makes her smile quietly at him.

            “Of course we can.”

            He smiles then, a bitter painful smile that will jar at her heart for _decades_ later, and roots around in his pocket. “I’m glad you said that.”

            She frowns, because he doesn’t really sound like himself at the moment, and she can see that his long fingers are shaking slightly like he’s afraid.

            “Stiles?”

            “They’re coming,” he mumbles, “They’re coming for me.”

            She knows about weird feelings like these, knows that while he sounds insane he probably _isn’t_ , knows that he’s probably just confused.

            “No one’s coming for you Stiles,” she says softly, “Scott and Kira are holding the others off, we’re _safe_.”

            He points to the sky, at the white flakes drifting down. “They’re – I think they’re down.”

            She frowns, because she hasn’t screamed yet and is pretty sure she would know if another one of their friends’ died (just like she knew when Allison died).

            “They’re not – “

            “They’re not dead, but they’re down,” he whispers, “He’s coming for us.”

            She’s slightly scared of him right now; scared of the way he’s looking at her like he’s a caged animal.

            “How do you know?”

            “The snow,” he says softly, “The snow’s not snow. It’s ash.”

            She stares up in horror at the white flakes, and soon realizes that he’s right, that this isn’t cold snow like it’s supposed to be, that it doesn’t smell like freshness, and instead smells like dead things.

            She turns back to where Scott had left them.

            “We need to go back!”

            “You should go back,” he whispers, “But I don’t think – I’m sorry Lydia.”

            She turns back to him, and her breath comes whooshing out of her in one horrified breath.

            He’s standing before her, and the reason for his rooting around in his pocket suddenly makes sense, because in his grip is a knife, a short heavy one that’s turned inwards so it skims his heart.

            “Don’t you dare,” she whispers, and her throat begins to itch.

            “It’s the only way to save all of you for _good_ ,” he responds, “It’s the only way we can all be free.”

            “NO.”

            “Yes,” he smiles then, that infuriatingly smile of his that spells Stiles to a T, the one that digs deep into her heart and brings tears to her eyes – “You know Lyds, I always thought it would kind of end like this.”

            She steps forward again, her movements careful and precise, “Stiles – “

            It’s like he knows that she’s going to stop him, knows that she isn’t going to let him sacrifice himself for their own good.

            He drives the knife home.

            “STILES!” the scream that erupts from her throat is raw pain, it’s raw pain and loose ends and Stiles standing with a knife sticking out of his chest, a knife that he put there and _oh god_.

            He crumples to the ground blanketed with ash from a fire she does not know, and she crumples with him, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt so he’s lying in her lap.

            His eyes are slowly, surely, starting to simmer down.

            “No,” she sobs, tears breaking free and sliding down her face. “Stiles you hold on. You don’t get to do this, you don’t get to be some – some _hero_. It doesn’t work like that.”

            He reaches up a hand and traces it lightly through her strawberry blonde curls, his eyes out of focus.

            “You know,” he whispers, his voice rasping free like it’s _struggling_ to get out, “I always thought you looked beautiful when you cried.”

            “Stiles don’t you, you can’t – “

            “I always loved you Lydia,” he finally says, “I hope you know that. _Always_.”

            The light fades from his eyes completely.

            Lydia throws back her head and screams again, a never-ending shrill note of pain that rings through the forest, that probably cascades into Scott, Kira, Liam’s – every supernatural being in town’s ears -  and she can’t stop.

            “STILES!” she screams, shaking him back and forth, “STILES WAKE UP!”

            (He doesn’t.)


End file.
